PR 

2<^05 

M3 





i 




SHAKESPEARE'S LOVE STORY 



Other Volumes by the Same A uthor 

SHAKESPEARE'S CHRISTMAS GIFT TO 
QUEEN BESS 

FLORENCE IN THE POETRY OF THE 
BROWNINGS 

WITH SHELLEY IN ITALY 

WITH BYRON IN ITALY 

WITH WORDSWORTH IN ENGLAND 

A. C. McClurg &. Co., Publishers 

CHICAGO 






.M3 



Copyright 

A. C. McGlurg & Co. 

1909 

Published, October 9, 1909 



The photographs of portrait of "Judith Shakespeare" and painting 
of ''Interior of Anne Hathaway' s Cottage" are repro- 
duced by permission of W. H. Smith ^ Son 
186 Strand, London, England 



4 8 4 8 7 



AEKANGED AND PKINTED BY 
THE UNIVERSITY PEESS, CAMBEIDGE, U. S. 



p 



DEDICATION 

To D. E. B. 

If any should be curious to discover 

Whether to you I am a friend or lover, 

Let him read Shakespeare's sonnets, taking thence 

A whetstone for their dull intelligence." 

— Shelley 



With this same key 
Shakespeare unlocked his heart." 

— Wordsworth 



CONTENTS 

Page 

"To THE Great Variety of Readers" . . i3 

I. At Anne Hathaway s Cottage . . . . i5 

II. In London Bg 

A Tribute from Shakespeare's Friend , . 85 



/ 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

Shakespeare's Courtship .... Frontispiece 

Anne Hatha way's Cottage from the Brook . 20 

The Interior of Anne Hatha way's Cottage. 21 

The Walk through Weir Brake . . . . 28 

Edmund Spenser 29 

Shakespeare's Birthplace 82 

Old Cottages at Welford-on-Avon ... 33 

Stratford-on-Avon from Weir Brake . . 35 

Old Cottage at Welford-on-Avon . . . 4o 

A Village Festival 4i 

Market Cross, Stratford-on-Avon ... 43 

The Latin Room at Stratford Grammar School 47 

Clopton Bridge at Stratford-on-Avon . . 5o 

Old Rectory at Alveston, Warwickshire . 5i 

A Letter from London 53 

Anne Shakespeare and her First-Born . . 57 

Queen Elizareth on her Way to St. Paul's 63 

A London Ballad-Seller . . . . . . . 67 

River Avon at Charlecote 70 

["] 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Old Lock on River Avon 71 

Group of London Authors of the XVI Century 78 

Sir Philip Sidney 76 

Judith Shakespeare 77 

London Street-Singers -79 

Shakespeare with his Family 82 

"New Place," Guild Chapel, and Falcon Inn 83 



I.] 



-TO THE GREAT VARIETY OF 
READERS" 

THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO THIS 
day, on May the twentieth, sixteen hundred 
and nine, there was entered on the Stationer's 
Register ' ' a book called Shakespeare's Sonnettes." 
To whom these sonnets were written, — whether 
to one person or to many different persons; why 
they were written, — whether as expressions of 
personal feeling or as flights of poetic fancy; in 
what order they were composed; how the pub- 
lisher got hold of them, no one knew then, and 
no one has since discovered. Rut that the book 
was printed without the author's supervision 
was plain, and that it was without his permis- 
sion seemed probable. It could not have been 
immediately popular, since it was thirty-one 
years before the issue of a second edition. The 
publisher's preface to this describes the sonnets 
as " seren, cleere and elegantly plaine," and 
for a hundred years this statement passed un- 
disputed. Rut toward the close of the eight- 
eenth century the critics and commentators 
began to busy themselves, and to torture out of 
[.3] 



FOREWORD 

these one hundred and fifty-four poems all man- 
ner of hidden meanings, most of them being of 
little credit to the poet. 

Fear not, long-sufiFering Readers, that another 
"theory" awaits you, to be added to the vast 
bulk of sonnet discussion. I ask, on this ter- 
centenary of the first announcement of Shake- 
speare's Sonnets, only the privilege of taking a 
few of them out of their arbitrary setting by 
the original publisher and of placing them be- 
tween the lines of some of the pages that we 
know of Shakespeare's life. Read them as you 
would any other poems, according to their sim- 
plest and most obvious meaning, and grant 
thereby that Shakespeare was not only the 
'mightiest of poets, but the most devoted and 
inspired of lovers. 

Mat the Twentieth 
Nineteen Hundred and Nine 



[i4] 



I 



AT ANNE HATHAWAY'S COTTAGE 

' ' Never durst poet touch a pen to write 

Until his ink were tempered with love's sighs." 
— Love's Labour's Lost 




CHAPTER ONE 

HE OLD THATGH- 

roofed cottage of Rich- 
ard Hathaway, yeoman 
of Shottery, shelters its 
own secret, in this year 
of our Lord, i58o, — a 
secret which, sooner or 
later, enters beneath all 
roofs where maidens 
dwell. Fair of face, sweet of speech, 
tender of heart, Anne Hathaway could 
not fail to learn it. In walks through 
quiet Shottery lanes, bordered by 
hedges of blooming hawthorn, it has 
been whispered in her ear; in gay 
village festivals, where young and old 
have joined in merry sport and dance, 
[■7] 




SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

it has been told by the warm pressure 
of the hand ; on the wooden seat by the 
old chimney-place, it has been revealed 
to her by a silence more eloquent than 
words. But more than all, and beyond 
all precious, are the little slips of paper 
on which the secret is written, — small 
slips indeed, fourteen lines only on 
each, hidden away from every curious 
eye, where none but Anne may find and 
none but Anne may read. That they 
are all on one theme makes, not mars, 
their worth; for it is the theme to 
which the hearts of maidens have 
thrilled and answered since time be- 
gan ; a theme the most simple yet also 
the most complex that anywhere exists 
— the theme, **I love you." Like the 
closely folded petals of the rose, each 
one differs somewhat from any other, 
each is needful to the perfect whole, all 
bend in homage to the sweet centre 
whence comes their life. The village 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

maiden only partly knows, what we 
now wholly grant, that never before 
has love found more glorious speech, 
never before has the great theme been 
set to lines which so run over with 
poetry and turn to music on the 
tongue. Too unlettered to analyze or 
compare, her spirit yet responds to 
their charm, and, like one set apart 
and supremely blessed among women, 
she treasures these little slips, has read 
and reread them until she needs to read 
them no more, so deeply graven are 
they in her memory. She might, in- 
deed, destroy the mere papers, for the 
sonnets are written in letters of light 
on her mind. Each is dated, but no 
dates are needed, for they tell their 
own story. In the earlier ones the boy- 
ish handwriting reveals the writer's 
youth. But although taken from 
school prematurely to help in earning 
the family bread, he has been learning 
[19] 




Anne Hathawat's Cottage 
From the Brook 




things far better than penmanship, and 
now at eighteen Will Shakespeare is, 
as all his Stratford neighbors grant, 
already a man in looks and bearing. 
Why this is so they do not fully under- 
stand, for his real life is lived too far 
apart from theirs. On the streets they 
know him well — this eldest son of the 
respected but unfortunate John Shake- 
speare — buying and selling, weighing 
and measuring, busy about all the little 
details of the business of the woollen 




The Interior 

OF Anne Hathawat's Cottage 



trade. What they do not know, and 
would httle esteem if they did, is that 
along with this there is an inner life 
— a life of dreams and visions, both 
his own and other men's as he finds 
them in books. He is revelling in the 
stirring events of Greek and Roman 
history, in poetry and fiction, in the 
long-spun details of honest chroniclers, 
in the wonders of romance, in legends 
of popular minstrelsy, in songs and 
ballads, in tales of that southern land 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

of Italy, where hearts beat faster and 
love and jealousy are fiercer and lead 
to more tragic ends than in everyday 
England. Moreover, from that same 
Italy, tw^o noble Englishmen have lately 
brought a nev^ form of verse — *' three 
four-fold strands of poesy, caught up 
and dexterously wound into a perfect 
circle by two shining threads of gold" 
— so the new verse form is described. 
Difficult of composition indeed, yet 
recognized by every young poet as the 
fittest and sweetest medium for the ex- 
pression of delicate feeling. Edmund 
Spenser is wooing his Elizabeth in 
the Amoretti Sonnets; Philip Sidney is 
telling a tragic tale of passion strug- 
gling with adverse fate, but mastered 
at last by high resolve, in his Astrophel 
and Stella; and William Shakespeare, 
though the world knows it not, is 
adding to this great sonnet era its 
brightest and most imperishable gems. 

[22 1 




The Walk, through Weir Brake 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

Already of *' imagination all com- 
pact," it matters little that he has left 
the Grammar School at the age of thir- 
teen, knowing ''small Latin and less 
Greek." He drinks now from richer 
founts of learning. Old books, mostly 
translations from the French or Latin, 
fall in his way. In one he reads the 
goodly history of Romeo and Giuletta ; 
in another the story of the rich heiress 
who chose a husband by the device of 
a gold, a silver, and a leaden casket ; 
the story of the merchant whose hard- 
hearted creditor required the fulfilment 
of his bond by cutting a pound of flesh 
from nearest the heart ; the story of the 
Emperor Theodosius who had three 
daughters — two who said they loved 
him more than themselves, and one 
who said she loved him so much as 
he was worthy. And the two who 
professed most were unkind to him ; 
but the other was the true daughter 
[25] 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

and cared for him in his need and 
when deserted by all others. 

At Billesley Hall, easily reached on a 
half holiday, is the rich store of books 
owned by his kinsman, Thomas Trus- 
sell. The old Chronicles delight him, 
less for their facts than for the soul 
struggles to be read between the lines. 
Single sentences lay hold upon him 
and kindle his imagination. He reads 
of one king who, "crowned and 
anointed by the spirituality, honored 
and exalted by the nobility, obeyed 
and worshipped of the common people, 
was suddenly deceived by them which 
he most trusted, betrayed by them 
whom he had preferred, and slain by 
them whom he had brought up and 
nourished " ; of another whose ' ' wife 
lay sore upon him to attempt the thing, 
as she that was very ambitious, burn- 
ing in unquenchable desire to bear the 
name of a Queen." 

[26] 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

But oftenest sought and longest lin- 
gered over are those "Lives of the Noble 
Grecians and Romans," lately brought 
from the French into eloquent English. 
Here, indeed, are annals after his own 
heart; annals more concerned with 
character than with events, noble deeds 
told in noble language. In backward 
looking vision he conjures wonderful 
scenes in 

' ' The most high and palmy state of Rome, 
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell," — 

portraits such as that of 

" Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, 
And Gydnus swell'd above the banks, or for 
The press of boats, or pride." 

On Sundays, from the Bible reading 
in the church, he stores away in mem- 
ory tales of moving pathos or striking 
incident, such as The Prodigal Son, 
Jacob and Laban, Lazarus and Dives, 
and others like unto them. On winter 
[^7] 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

nights he creeps in unnoticed by 
the old gossips at the fireside to 
listen to their weird tales and ghostly 
fables 

" Of woful ages long ago betid." 

And so, with mind full and running 
over with stories of wonderful combats, 
of courageous knights, of noble dames, 
of chaste and constant ladies, of puissant 
princes, he too must needs express him- 
self. He too will write a sonnet; he 
too will choose a lady fair as Petrarch 
chose his Laura, as the Earl of Surrey 
his Geraldine. To her will he sing all 
the thoughts and feelings that fill his 
breast, and she will read and remember 
and rejoice. 

One and one only fills his mind's eye 
and wins his heart's love. That she is 
seven years older than himself matters 
not. Indeed, is it not always so with 
a first love ? Is it not ever the woman 
[28 1 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

somewhat ripe in years that answers to 
its ideal? 

The sweet thoughts easily shape them- 
selves into verse, but long days pass 
before the opportunity comes to slip it 
into the hand of Anne Hathaway, for 
the poet is shy, as befits his years. But 
come it does at last. It is a spring 
morning and, according to the pretty 
English custom, all the young people 
have turned out to "do observance to 
the morn of May." Most of them have 
spent the night in the woods, in dances 
and in games, and now return in pro- 
cession, each bearing birch boughs, 
branches of trees or garlands, and fol- 
lowing the big Maypole drawn by 
thirty yoke of oxen, every horn tipped 
with a bright nosegay. But when fun 
and feasting are over, and Anne Hatha- 
way turns her steps homeward at the 
twilight hour, a paper is pressed into 
her hand and she reads: 




Shakespeare's Birthplace, before 
ITS Restoration 




When in the chronicle of wasted time 
I see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme 
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights ; 
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best. 
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
I see their antique pen would have express 'd 
Even such a beauty as you master now. 
So all their praises are but prophecies 
Of this our time, all you prefiguring, 
And, for they look'd but with divining eyes, 
They had not skill enough your worth to sing. 
For we, which now behold these present days, 
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to 
praise. 

[32] 




Of the thoughts of the village maiden, 
of her dreams that night, who shall tell? 
But that, henceforth, she too abides in 
the ideal world, who shall doubt ? For 
those who once enter therein there are 
no surprises, nothing is too strange or 
too glorious for belief. Days follow, 
but how different from all former days! 
Spinning, weaving, baking, malting, 
brewing — each prosaic task is glorified 
by the little paper worn next her heart. 
But when night falls, every duty done, 
[33] 




SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

the five younger children snugly tucked 
away in bed, comes at last the quiet 
hour which Anne may claim as her very 
own — hour set apart and sacred to the 
hopes, the dreams, the visions which 
will not bear the light of day. This 
glowing verse — is it truly written for 
her, and her alone, or is it perchance 
(cruel thought!) merely a poetic fancy 
born of books and not of feeling? Will 
the handsome youth, already a man in 
looks though not in years, put these 
thoughts into speech at their next meet- 
ing? Not yet; but though the lover may 
not venture to approach his mistress, 
he may place flowers on her doorstep; 
through them will he speak : 

The forward violet thus^did I chide ; 

Sweet thief, whence did thou steal thy sweet 

that smells. 
If not from my love's breath ? The purple pride 
Which on thj soft cheek for complexion dwells 
In mj love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. 
The lily I condemned for thy hand, 
[34] 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair; 
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, 
One blushing shame, another white despair; 
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both 
And to his robbery had annex' d thy breath ; 
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth, 
A vengeful canker eat him up to death. 

More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, 
But sweet or color it had stol'n from thee. 

Weeks pass; weeks of suspense and 
misery to Anne. Rumor tells her of 
wild pranks among the Stratford youth, 
Will Shakespeare's name being always 
among the ringleaders. Stories come 
to her ears of a drinking bout at Bid- 
ford, wherein the Stratford boys being 
worsted, start for home, but can go no 
further than a certain crabtree by the 
roadside, where they all fall down and 
lie in drunken sleep until morning; 
stories of strolling players with reputa- 
tions none too good, who have such an 
attraction for John Shakespeare's son 
that he follows them from place to place 
[37] 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

to the great neglect of his father's busi- 
ness; stories of hawking, hunting, 
poaching, horse racing, which fill the 
worse than idle hours. 

The springtime wanes and the poet 
is silent. Has love waned too? Believe 
it not ; summer has its own message : 

My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in 

seeming; 
I love not less, though less the show appear; 
That love is merchandized whose rich esteeming 
The owner's tongue doth publish everywhere. 
Our love was new, and then but in the spring 
When I was wont to greet it with my lays. 
As Philomel, in summer's front doth sing 
And stops her pipe, in growth of riper days; 
Not that the summer is less pleasant now 
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the 

night, 
But that wild music burthens every bough 
And sweets grown common lose their dear 

delight. 
Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my 

tongue 
Because I would not dull you with my song. 
[38 1 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

But such reserve is not for long, nor 
is the written vs^ord enough. Soon 
meetings are planned; many a tryst is 
held among the woodland paths of Weir 
Brake ; many are the walks over Borden 
Hill, "where the wild thyme blows," or 
along the banks of the Avon, where 
"willows grow aslant the stream" and 
where the level meadows are fringed 
with purple loose-strife, yellow iris, and 
blue forget-me-not. More and more, 
feeling breaks through reserve; the 
youth pours into sympathetic ears the 
story of his hopes, his fears, his dis- 
couragements, his ambitions. He con- 
fesses his longing to travel to the great 
city of London, there to try his fortune 
as poet; his hope some day to become 
a part of the great world with its wit 
and wisdom, its big events and heroic 
actions ; his intention to compose a long 
poem in a new manner, reading now 
and then a stanza from that Venus and 

[39] 





Adonis which, years afterward, he is to 
publish as the *'first heir of his in- 
vention." 

' Never durst poet touch a pen to write 
Until his ink were temper' d with love's sighs 

is a truth born of the writer's own ex- 
perience. More and more impassioned 
becomes his utterance : 

Those hues that I before have writ do lie, 
Even those that said I could not love you dearer ; 
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why 

[4o] 




My most full flame should afterwards burn 

clearer. 
But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents 
Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, 
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp st intents, 
Divert strong minds to the course of altering 

things; 
Alas, why, fearing of time's tyranny 
Might I not then say, *' Now, I love you best " 
When I was certain o'er uncertainty. 
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest ? 
Love is a babe ; then might I not say so. 
To give full growth to that which still doth 

grow ? 

[4i] 




SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

But now a shadow obscures the 
beautiful dream, Anne's conscience 
stirs. Her small Warwickshire world, 
as she knows but too well, will take 
merely a prosaic and practical view. 
Heads will wag disapprovingly, tongues 
will sting with bitter words, some will 
find in this matter food for merry jest 
and laughter. Hard as it is, Anne's 
resolve is taken; she meets her lover, 
tenderly reminds him of the reasons 
which must and ought to separate 
them, especially of their difference in 
years. Sad is the parting in the old 
garden, but, the cruel ordeal over, with 
conscience appeased, Anne retires to 
rest. But who shall wonder if the 
morning finds her at the old trysting 
place, so full of tender memories ? 
Surely, she may yet take this small 
consolation without blame. And there 
behold! a fresh paper, the ink hardly 
yet dry upon it : 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 
For as you were when first your eye I eyed, 
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters 

cold 
Have from the forests shook three summers' 

pride : — 
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn 

turn'd. 
In process of the seasons have I seen 
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd. 
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 
Ahl yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand. 
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived; 
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth 

stand. 
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived; 
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred. 
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. 

Thus boldly, thus resisting all denial, 
stifling all objections, pleading as man 
never plead before, the young Shake- 
speare won his w^ay. The joy of lov- 
ing has been great, but the joy of being 
beloved is even greater. His spirit is 
tuned to finer issues; v^ild frolic and 
unseemly carousal delight no more. 
[45] 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

Field and forest are dear to him still, 
not for chase and sport, but because he 
finds there things like unto the drama 
of his own soul. Quiet, midland 
streams suggest the course of his own 
true love; in their soft murmur he 
hears *'a gentle kiss to every sedge he 
overtaketh in his pilgrimage." 

Long afterwards, when he writes of 
the '* uncertain glory of an April day," 
of the * ' sun gilding pale streams with 
heavenly alchemy," of the *' canker in 
the fragrant rose," of autumn 

" When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, " 

memory is only speaking the language 
he is now learning, reviving scenes 
which now become vital in his life. 
The joy of a love requited as well as 
bestowed now finds speech: 

Let those who are in favor with their stars 
Of public honor and proud titles boast. 
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, 
[46] 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

Unlook'd for, joy in that I honor most. 
Great princes' favorites their fair leaves spread, 
But as the marigold at the sun's eye, 
And in themselves their pride lies buried, 
For at a frown they in their glory die. 
The painful warrior famoused for fight, 
After a thousand victories, once foiled, 
Is from the book of honor razed quite, 
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled. 
Then happy I, that love Jind am beloved 
Where I may not remove, nor be removed. 

Then began those experiences which 
the youth was after to crystallize in his 
famous line, — "The course of true love 
never did run smooth." The death of 
Richard Hathaway in July transferred 
to Anne, the eldest daughter, the duty 
to shield and care for the mother and 
the younger children. The pride of the 
Shakespeares of Stratford and the 
Ardens of Wilmcote took ill the notion 
of an alliance between their eldest son 
and the daughter of the humble Shottery 
farmer. But the youth brooked no in- 
terference, parental or otherwise : 
[49] 



.^ 



-^if^'m^ff^m^irr^ 




Clopton Bridge at Stratford-on-Avon 
Built in the XV Century 




me not to the marriage of true minds 
Admit impediments. Love is not love 
Which alters when it alteration finds, 
Or bends with the remover to remove. 
O no ! it is an ever-fixed mark 
That looks on tempests and is never shaken ; 
It is the star to every wandering bark, 
Whose worth s unknown, although his height 

be taken. 
Love 's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
Love alters not with its brief hours and weeks. 
But bears it out, even to the edge of doom. 
If this be error, and upon me proved, 
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 
[5o] 






Old Rectory 

AT Alveston, Warwicishire 



Thus was it that Shakespeare wooed 
and won his bride for their troth 
plighting — a solemn ceremony with 
exchange of rings and joining of hands, 
a kiss given and returned in the presence 
of witnesses, the real marriage in fact. 
Three months more, and the wedding 
day has arrived. Fair and clear, though 
frosty, is the November air as the merry 
party starts from the Shottery cottage 
across the fields and by winding roads 
to the little church at Luddington. The 
[5i] 




SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

bride, clad in a gown of sheep's russet 
with a kirtle of fine worsted, her hair 
curiously plaited and bound with golden 
fillets, is attended by two graceful boys 
with bride laces tied about their silken 
sleeves and scattering rosemary in her 
path. Before them is borne a silver-gilt 
bride cup hung about with ribbons of 
many colors; after them follow musi- 
cians; then a group of maidens, some 
carrying great bride cakes, others gar- 
lands of wheat finely gilded. As they 
reach the last turn of the road, fore- 
riders announce the approach of the bride- 
groom and his train . First are the pipers 
playing a festive tune; then the bride- 
groom with two young maidens attend- 
ing; next a crowd of villagers, shouting, 
clapping their hands, and tossing their 
caps in air. 

At the church the ceremony at the 
altar is but short. Afterward all drink 
from the gilt bowl and salute the bride, 
[52] 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

while four young men mount fleet horses 
and contend with each other for the prize 
which awaits the one who first reaches 
home with the good news. Many were 
the lads that day that envied Will Shake- 
speare his good fortune ; none, looking 
upon the bonny pair, found aught for 
wonder or for blame in a marriage 
blessed by so much beauty, constancy, 
and romance. 



55 



II 

IN LONDON 

'O, know, sweet love, I always write of you." 

— Sonnet LXXVI 




CHAPTER TWO 




10 TRUE LOVE 
story ends with the 
wedding day ; Anne 
Hathaway the maiden 
lost no charm as Anne 
Shakespeare the 
mother of the three 
Httle ones that came to 
bless the simple home. 
But new delights bring new cares; the 
claims of a growing family and a dimin- 
ishing income are not to be gainsaid. 
The woollen trade failed to furnish sup- 
port for two families; school teaching 
and the law were found to bring but 
small returns in Stratford. Often, at 
fireside conferences, the old dreams of 
[6i] 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

London are revived; but how make so 
rash a venture with wife and little ones? 
With womanly self-denial, it is Anne 
herself who urges the trial; she will 
remain at home until such time as the 
husband and father shall either return 
or bid them join him. Why should he 
hesitate when other Stratford men have 
won success P Did not Richard Field 
go to the big city as a printer's appren- 
tice, and is he not now, after a few 
years, a great publisher? Are not 
Richard Burbage, Thomas Greene, and 
other fellow townsmen already famous 
as actors? Are not their gifts far less 
than his own? That lovely tale of 
Venus and Adonis, which has now become 
a long poem; those charming bits of 
plays which the occasional visits of 
London companies to the improvised 
stage of the Guidhall have impelled him 
to write — all of these he must take to 
London in his pocket. These will 
[62] 



W" 




SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

make his fortune there; whether in 
poems or in plays, he need not fear 
to match himself even against the bril- 
liant university vs^its of w^hom now and 
then they hear — of that she is quite sure. 
Such logic of love added to press of 
poverty combine to give courage to one 
himself not without that consciousness 
of high powers which must always be- 
long to genius, and on the sixth anni- 
versary of his wedding day, William 
Shakespeare is alone in London. He 
has arrived just in time to see the 
Queen's solemn procession as it leaves 
Somerset House for St. Paul's, there 
to return thanks for the defeat of the 
Spanish Armada. He catches his first 
glimpse of that royal lady, who is said 
to love poets and their verses, and to 
welcome them to her court. She is 
seated on a highly decorated chariot 
throne drawn by richly caparisoned 
horses; she raises one ungloved hand 
[65 1 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

in blessing, while her adoring subjects 
lift up their voices in joyful acclama- 
tions. There too is the Earl of Essex, 
Master of the Horse, leading by the 
bridle the Horse of State; also Ladies 
of Honor, Privy Council, Prime Nobil- 
ity, and Judges, all on horseback, w^ith 
guards and domestics marching on 
foot. A splendid pageant truly ! All 
London is rocking and roaring w^ith 
Armada patriotism; all the talk is of 
sea fights and heroes; all the streets 
ring with ballads of Drake and Howard 
and Hawkins and Frobisher. But the 
unknown and unnoticed observer of all 
this splendor is sad at heart, — a home- 
sick man, alone in a great city. As of 
old, it is in expression that he finds re- 
lief; as of old, his lines take the rhythm 
and metre inseparable from thoughts of 
his best beloved: 

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
[66] 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

And trouble deaf heaven with mj bootless cries, 
And look upon myself and curse my fate, 
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, 
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope. 
With what I most enjoy contented least; 
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
Haply I think on thee, and then my state. 
Like to the lark at break of day arising 
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate ; 

For thy sweet love remember d such wealth 
brings. 

That then I scorn to change my state with 
kings. 

On poems, rather than on plays, had 
the young man built his hopes of London. 
But he is not long in discovering that 
"the play's the thing." All the young 
poets are v^riting plays; all the young 
lords are flocking to see plays acted. 
To be sure the law frowns upon the 
players, classing them with roguies, 
vagabonds, and beggars; to avoid its 
penalties the poor player must enroll 
himself as the servant of some nobleman. 

[69] 




River Avon 
AT Gharlecotb 




However, the patron who protects a 
company and the poet who writes for 
it become often fast friends. That way 
success Hes. 

Forthwith he goes to the Blackfriars 
Theatre and joins the Earl of Leicester's 
company, finding congenial society in a 
little colony of his fellow townsmen al- 
ready there. Small parts are given him 
for the stage ; he does not despise them, 
since a man who would write plays must 
learn the art by first acting in them 

[70] 



himself. The money that he earns goes 
to Anne, who receives it not without 
lament at the manner of its earning. In 
her eyes he is all too good for such mean 
work, to which he replies : 

Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there 

And made myself a motley to the view, 

Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is 

most dear. 
Made old offences of affections new: 
Most true it is that I have look'd on truth 
Askance and strangely: but, by all above. 
These blenches gave my heart another youth, 

[71] 




SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

And worse essays proved thee my best of love. 
Now all is done, have what shall have no end; 
Mine appetite I never more will grind 
On newer proof, to try an older friend, 
A god in love, to whom I am confined. 

Then give me welcome, next my heaven the 
best, 

Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. 

Soon the odious calling of actor is 
dropped for the more congenial one of 
playwright. In less than two years his 
comedies have become so popular that 
the best poet of the day writes of him : 

"He, the man whom Nature's self had made. 
To mock herself, and Truth to imitate." 

The most picturesque figure at Court, 
the Earl of Southampton, helps him 
both with purse and with praise, en- 
couraging him to publish not only the 
long-withheld poem of Venus and Adonis, 
but a later one on the Rape of Lucrece. 
Even the Queen becomes eager to see 
these much-talked-of plays, and again 
[72] 




NT imrTTi 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

and again the Master of the Revels de- 
mands a new play, or an old one revised, 
to present before her Majesty at Christ- 
mas, or Tw^elfth Night, or other festi- 
val. Close personal friendships follow 
on artistic relations. He knows the 
bright spots and dark shadows in the 
careers of men like Southampton and 
William Herbert. Their experiences ap- 
peal to his poetic imagination so intensely 
as to seem almost his very own. He 
speaks for them in sonnets which, 
though well understood at the time, 
bring later some scandal to his own 
name. He lives the life of the creative 
artist, buoyed on the billows of success 
or sunk in the troughs of weariness and 
gloom. He meets court ladies, free of 
wit and sometimes of morals, and sur- 
renders to their spell more than after- 
wards he is able to forgive himself. 
But always, restoration and healing 
come through his yearly visit to the 
[75] 





Stratford home; the heart still rings 
true; the verse has lost none of its 
sincerity : 

0, never say that I was false of heart, 

Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify, 

As easy might I from myself depart 

As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie: 

That is my home of love; if I have ranged, 

Like him that travels I return again. 

Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, 

So that myself bring water for my stain: 

Never believe, though in my nature reigned 

All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 

[76] 



Judith Shakespeare 
"It is my father'' s will 
I should take on me 
The hostess-ship o' the 
day. Reverend sirs. 
For you there 's rose- 
mary and rue . . . 
Grace and remem- 
brance be to you." 
—The Winter's 
Tale. 




That it could so preposterously be stain'd, 
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; 
For nothing this wide universe I call, 
Save thou, my rose; in it, thou art my all. 

The high hopes with which the Strat- 
ford youth went forth to seek fame and 
fortune are at last more than realized. 
At the end of twenty-one years he has 
written plays which fill the theatres and 
which all eagerly wish to read; he is 
the delight of all circles where wits meet 
or beauty shines; is known as the 

[77] 



Shakespeare's love story 

"mellifluous and honey-tongued," the 
facile writer of ' * sugred Sonnets among 
his private friends." So highly gifted 
a being cannot fail to pass through, 
either in his ow^n person or by sympathy, 
all of life's most searching experiences. 
More than commonly accessible is such 
an one to temptations of the senses, the 
heart, the imagination. Of such, many 
sonnets stand in confession. The way 
is long and not always pleasant to follow, 
nor is it necessary. That in the main 
his eye was fixed on the highest things, 
that at heart he was always true to love 
and home and family, he who runs may 
read. Before he has been ten years 
absent he has taken steps to restore the 
family fortune and to bring the name of 
Shakespeare back into local repute ; has 
purchased a fine house, where wife and 
children await eagerly his annual visits; 
is always looking forward to his own 
final return to the peaceful fireside and 
[78] 



SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

the old friends in the dear town of 
his birth. Another decade of steady 
work and growing powers places him 
at the head of his profession; but his 
thought is less of new achievements 
and fresh triumphs than of the pros- 
pect of speedy reunion. The lines 
which herald his home-coming ring 
with all the old fervor of devotion and 
constancy : 

Why is my verse so barren of new pride, 

So far from variation or quick change ? 

Why with the time do I not glance aside 

To new-found methods and to compounds 

strange ? 
Why write I still all one, ever the same, 
And keep invention in a noted weed, 
That every word doth almost tell my name. 
Showing their birth and where they did proceed ? 
O, know, sweet love, I always write of you, 
And you and love are still my argument ; 
So all my best is dressing old words new , 
Spending again, what is already spent. 
For as the sun is daily new and old. 
So is my love still telling what is told. 




Shakespeare with his Family 
Shakespeare reading one of his plays to wife and children : — 
Susanna, the eldest daughter, and Hamnet and Judith, twins, 
two years younger. 




Thus was it that, while still in early 
middle life, with matchless powers still 
at their height and with the praises of 
his latest triumph in the great Roman 
play of Antony and Cleopatra still ring- 
ing in all ears, Shakespeare exchanged 
the plaudits of London for the placid 
state of a country gentleman in a small 
Warwickshire town. 

Listen not, I pray you, to those subtle 
and ingenious critics who would have us 
believe that the most eloquent love poems 

[82] 



1111 fill : ^ 



"New Place," Guild Chapel, and Falcon Inn 
Shakespeare's last home in Stratford. No print of the house as 
it was in Shakespeare's time exists ; the front here shown dates 
from the following century. 



in the English tongue were written by 
one man to another; still more, I pray 
you, listen not to those who aver that 
because Shakespeare lived many years 
away from his family in London and left 
by his will to his wife only a scant be- 
quest that he loved her not; above all, 
listen not to those who hint that the 
man who created so many lovely and 
constant ladies — Juliet, Rosalind, Des- 
demona, Imogen, and the rest — had a 
wife of shrewish or jealous disposition. 
[83] 




SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY 

Every man — even the greatest — con- 
ceives of vs^omanhood in the likeness of 
the women he has known best, — a 
mother, a sister, a wife, or perhaps some 
near friend. Whoever is wise in the 
lore of the heart may read between the 
lines what even the most astute of critics 
will miss; may see for himself, what 
was never doubted until more than a 
century after the author's death, that 
Shakespeare, in his sonnets, was a lover 
speaking to his beloved, and may learn 
from them more of the man's real self 
than is anywhere else possible. 



[84] 



' ' / loved the man and do honour his memory, on 
this side idolatry as much as any. He was, in- 
deed, honest and of an open and free nature.'' 

— Bem Johson 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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